


Pick-up Artist

by scapeartist



Series: 15-Minute Masterpieces [13]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7093246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scapeartist/pseuds/scapeartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt for this story was "Charming" and "Litter." It takes place whenever Doctoberfest may have happened prior to season 5a. Charming gets tasked with clean up. Everywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pick-up Artist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wingedlioness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedlioness/gifts).



> Each one-shot in this series is part of a writing prompt exercise. I was having some trouble getting into the writing groove again and asked for a word and a character, and from there I would spend at least 15 minutes writing, I would not heavily edit, nor would I use a beta. This was purely me needing to get my brain moving. The "Masterpiece" part is tongue-in-cheek (even if most of these are not bad at all).

“Say, there, _Charming_ , you might want to get a head start on the trash pick up,” Leroy said, leaning against the diner’s fence and gesturing with his “Doctoberfest” chalice at the thinning crowd along Main Street.

David looked at Leroy in confusion. “Trash pick up?”

“Yep. That’s what you’re signed up for, pal. And if you don’t get started now, you could be here _all_ night.”

Glancing around the table where he was relaxing with his family and a beer or three, David shrugged and shook his head. He flashed Leroy a smile.

“I never signed up for trash duty.”

Leroy fished a piece of paper out of his back pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to David.

“Says it right there.” Leroy tapped the paper with his coal-stained, callused, finger.

Sure enough, there, at the bottom of the list was “Trash: David Nolan.”

“Why didn’t anyone _tell_ me?” he asked, looking pointedly at his wife.

She winced. “Didn’t I?”

“No.”

Rubbing their baby’s back in slow circles, Mary Margaret pressed her lips together, frowning, in an attempt to look chagrined. “Can I blame Mommy brain?”

“Will you—”

“Ooh, sorry honey, but I’ve got to get this little prince home to bed soon or I’d definitely help you,” she said, looking far less chagrined all of a sudden. “Also, I helped organize the games. So, technically, _I’m_ done.”

David sighed, exasperated, and looked at Emma.

“Sorry, Dad, I was in charge of security.”

He smiled encouragingly at Henry.

“I handled the music, Gramps. I’m off duty.”

Finally he rounded on Killian, who leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He raised a brow at David’s pleading look.

“Spent the morning hauling kegs around, mate. I’m going to finish enjoying the fruits of my labor and then whisk your daughter off to—”

“Fine! Fine. I get it. I get it. You’re busy.”

“Not yet, but I will be.”

A chorus of groans and “ew’s” and a “Did you _have_ to go there?” cut off any more attempts to get help with the last duty of the night.  

Downing what was left of his beer, and suddenly wishing it was something far stronger, David wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stalked out of Granny’s patio muttering under his breath about giving the damn job to someone with magic for crying out loud.

Dopey cut off his exit with a child-like grin and a waggle of his fingers, deflating David’s irritation. Until Dopey held out a trash bag and a thin stick with a sharp end, that was. Snatching them out the dwarf’s hands, David considered challenging Killian to a duel for grossing him out, never mind not helping. Instead, he turned away and began stabbing pieces of food wrappers and cups up off the street and sidewalks as if he were being attacked by dangerous creatures—and possibly a pirate or two.

Had to amuse himself somehow.

Two hours and a spotless main street later, David let himself into the loft only to stumble over Mary Margaret’s flats just in front of the open door. He picked them up, and tucked them under his arm to put back in her closet.

Apparently he was on clean-up duty at home tonight, too. He sighed and pulled his shoulders in and then pushed them back to stretch them out. Never would he have imagined picking up trash could be such a workout.  

The lights were low in the apartment, and all was quiet, save for the gentle snore coming from his son’s bassinet, which he was careful not to get close to no matter how much he wanted to see his boy. He’d just started sleeping longer at night, and David wasn’t fool enough to risk upsetting _that_ schedule. 

As David walked toward his bedroom instead, he was greeted not by Mary Margaret herself, but a trail of her tights, skirt, blouse, bra, and panties, each of which he collected up swiftly until he was outside the bedroom, breath quickened in anticipation. When he reached their bed—and his very naked wife—he dumped the armful of her clothes to the floor again and hastily littered their room with his own clothes.

Pulling Mary Margaret into his arms and lifting her on top of him as he settled into bed, he shook his head and asked, “Do I have to pick up everything around here?”


End file.
